A Richness At the Edge of the World
by OmniHelix
Summary: Strongly AU. An occasional series of drabbles and one-shots as sequels to my story "The Veil of Necessity, in which Finn did not die, but lives in seclusion in Costa Rica, hiding from the Mob, whose murder he witnessed. Rachel has joined him, and they live there under assumed names. Rated M for adult themes. I recommend reading that story first.
1. Moonset

**A/N: A reminder: in the story "The Veil of Necessity", Rachel and Finn changed their names to Miriam (Miri) and Nicolas (Nick) **

She awoke before moonset, 3 AM, to ghostly light filling their bedroom and the murmur of the surf. Her hand rubbed her belly absently; the baby was dozing, in contrast to the ninja moves that so delighted his father last night. His relative stillness did not stop him from squeezing her poor bladder, though, and Miri carefully pulled back the covers so as not to wake her husband or the dog. The almost-cool, pre-dawn air felt good on her legs and arms. Carefully sliding out of bed, she padded, barefoot, into the bathroom.

The baby remained sleeping as she relieved herself. What was he dreaming about, she wondered, curled up so warmly inside her? Did the dreams involve the sounds of his world, the solemn beating of her heart, the air rushing in and out of her lungs? Her muffled voice? His father's voice? She washed her hands and headed to the kitchen for a drink of water.

The world outside was awash in pale light. From the sink Miri could see the avocado and mango trees etching rich, shifting shadows on the ground, in response to the soft breeze ruffling the pretty yellow curtains in the open window. The feel of the air on her skin aroused and amused her: her cravings didn't always involve food, it seemed. Standing at the sink, hands clasped under her belly, she contemplated awakening Nick, but decided against it. He had earned his sleep, especially with the boat contract deadline approaching. Miri had given his shoulders a deep massage earlier, just to get him to relax enough to rest. So she slipped out of her panties, pulled off her sleep shirt, and stepped outside.

The sand felt good between her toes. Miri could see the faint luminescence of the whitecaps in the distance beckoning her. The thought of the warm salt water buoying her up and relieving the stress on her muscles and ligaments brought a quickness to her pace across the sand. She supported her belly with one hand, brought her other arm across her breasts, and rushed across the beach until she splashed into the creamy surf, up to her waist. The sudden flush of warm water between her legs forced an erotic current to surge through her and she regretted not waking her husband now and laughed gaily, carefree, leaning back to float upon the dark water. The rushing of the surf was like a prayer and the gentle lapping of the waves rocked her in its cradle, a cradle for her and her baby, and the lust gave way quickly to peace. She didn't think she had ever been happier in her life.

She turned her head to watch the moon, huge and swollen, bobbing up and down, casting its silver path across the water to the horizon, washing out all but the brightest stars in the dark velvet sky. It reminded her of that moonlit night in Lima when she and Finn (she could never think of him as Nick when remembering high school) had gone skinny-dipping in the lake for the first time. It had been only a couple of weeks after their triumph at Nationals, before he sent her away on the train, and the heartbreak began. She chuckled to think how reluctant she was at first, wanting to stay in just her underwear, but when she saw Finn stripped to the buff in the moonlight, all her inhibitions fled.

She felt the baby stir, and wondered if her son would awaken like his father: slowly, reluctantly, eyelashes fluttering, lips smacking. She wondered if he would look like the son she bore in the dream she had a week after Finn's funeral. Part of her wanted him born now, so she could kiss his head as he suckled at her breast, in the nursery rocking chair Nick had built. But here, bobbing in the water, the soreness in her body easing away, Miri embraced the deep intimacy she had with her baby now, just the two of them, as they counted down the days till they could meet, face-to-face.

He was asleep again. She turned her head towards the shore and saw Molly sitting at the water's edge, watching up and down the beach, guarding her and her son, as Nick had taught her. She rolled over and began to swim, parallel to the shore, in a relaxed, lazy crawl. The smooth movement of her muscles felt wonderful; lately, on land, Miri's new ungainliness bothered her at times. She sometimes caught herself imagining Nick and their friends—even her theatre colleagues—joking about her appearance, and often felt silly asking Nick to do things for her.

"You don't have to be so goddamned independent all of the time," he growled one day. "It's okay to let me do things for you."

"And the baby," she corrected, irritable, wanting to start a fight, God knows why. And she didn't appreciate that he just laughed, and put his arms around her whale-like body. Surely he was tired of her looking like…_this_.

But to no avail. Miri could never resist Nick's adoring look for long. And later, in bed, when he rubbed the cocoa-butter lotion on her belly, getting her to purr and stretch like some horribly-spoiled cat, contentedness washed over her like the ocean was washing over her now. She stopped swimming, and found her footing again. Molly, ever-watchful, had followed her down the beach. Her baby was still asleep. She let the waves gently jostle her for a little while longer, and then emerged from the surf feeling relaxed and sleepy again.

There were lights on in the house. Damn, she was sure she had turned all of them off. Nick must be up. Maybe he was making coffee. Or, better yet, breakfast.

"Come on, Molly," she called out, enjoying how her body felt less stressed after the little swim. She supported her belly again with her right hand, but left her breasts free, as the breeze cooled her wet skin.

Her son remained asleep, and again she wondered what he was dreaming. What if, as she swam, he heard the distant calls of whales? Would he remember them?

She wanted to ask him so many things. She wondered if he knew how much he would be loved.

She could tell him a few things about that.


	2. A Day in the Country

Kurt was used to finding the pink envelopes with the gold stars in his dressing room by now, but this was the first time the note inside contained an address:

_**The Lakeview Inn**_

_**132 Bedford Lane**_

_**Forestburgh, NY 12777**_

There was a phone number to call. A dignified, English voice was on the other end.

"Good evening, Sir. My name is Andrew. I trust you have the address?"

"Good evening, Andrew." Kurt said. "Yes, I do. What's going on?" His heart was pounding, because he had an idea.

"Your presence is requested for the weekend of the 3rd at this address. We researched your schedule." This gave Kurt a slight chill, "We think this might be a good date for you to come to this address. Would that be possible?"

Kurt thought a moment. "Yes, that would be fine." He was between Broadway jobs at the moment, but with excellent prospects for an upcoming show.

"Good. May we send a car for you at 3PM Friday?"

"Yes, thank you. May I ask what this is about?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not at liberty to say." Of course not.

"I understand. "

"Also, sir, please do not bring your mobile phone with you."

Kurt felt another chill.

He was waiting at the curb when the car arrived. A tall, dark-haired man, dressed in a black suit and very dark sunglasses got out of the back, and, without a word, took Kurt's bag, placing it in the trunk. After looking carefully about, he joined Kurt in the back seat.

"Hello, Mr Hummel. I'm Andrew. Would you care for some champagne? "

"Yes, thank you," Kurt said, settling back into the car's plush upholstery. It was a warm May day, and with all of this weird stuff, he could use a drink. Andrew poured him a glass then settled back himself, drinking from a teacup. He met Kurt's inquisitive glance.

"Just tea, sir. I'm on duty."

"Ah." Kurt sipped, then looked up in pleasant surprise.

"Bollinger, 1996, sir. A very good year."

"Indeed." He tried making small talk, but Andrew remained terse. Kurt could see he was looking around at all times. That was okay with Kurt, especially when Andrew produced some Beluga caviar and wedges of toast.

They were soon out of New York City, headed northwest, as far as Kurt could reckon. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, just warm enough to not need even a sweater, and the upstate New York countryside occupied Kurt for the ride, helping him keep down his excitement. He knew that he was probably going to meet his brother and Rachel, possibly even his brand-new nephew, Alex. For that he was grateful. It had been a long three years since Rachel's funeral, and five since Finn's. He had to remind himself that her name was Miri now, and Finn's was Nick.

He must have started to doze, because the next thing he knew it was five o'clock when they pulled up in a curved gravel driveway in front of the inn. It was a large, English Tudor-style building: dark beams and beautifully-kept rosebushes in front. All that was missing was a thatched roof. Only one other car was parked in the driveway: a well-traveled green Land Rover. While the driver carried his bag, Kurt accompanied Andrew inside. Large french doors in the dining area beyond the staircase opened onto a large lawn sweeping down to a pristine lake, glittering in the golden afternoon light, framed by the just-turning autumn colors of the surrounding forest.

"It's beautiul," Kurt murmured. He looked around for the driver, but he was gone, along with Kurt's bag. Other than the clerk at the desk, there were no other people about.

"I took the liberty of having the driver take your bag up to your room, 201" Andrew said. He handed Kurt the key, and smiled. "There are some people who wanted to see you as soon as you arrived." He pointed at the french doors. "They are outside, waiting." Kurt looked to him. "I'll be about," he said.

It had been hard for Kurt to handle all of the secrecy, even when he knew how necessary it was. But he fully appreciated it now, and, as he walked through the doors, a rush of emotion came over him such that he could barely breathe. Memories of the awful pain of burying Finn, and then Rachel, almost overwhelmed the joy he had felt at the news that they were alive.

He stepped outside, and saw them at a white table with a champagne bucket and some food. Finn—er, _Nick—_was laughing at something Miri had just said. He was tanned now, with longer, tousled hair, wearing a coral polo shirt and jeans. Miri's hair was shorter-barely shoulder length- and she looked beautiful in a simple white floral print dress. In her arms, suckling busily, was Alex, his new nephew. The baby had a healthy shock of curly black hair. His mother looked relaxed, deeply tanned, and happy. The two of them could have been the subjects of a Renaissance painting, he thought. Nick and Miri looked up as he approached, and Nick jumped to his feet, pulling Kurt into a long hug.

"Hey, little brother," he whispered.

"I can't believe this is actually you." Kurt held on as if for dear life. Finally they pulled apart, and Kurt looked over to Miri, who was beaming at him. He rushed over and hugged her from behind, his face over her shoulder.

"Uncle Kurt, meet Alex." Her face was transcendent in a way he had never seen. The baby ignored him, of course, intent on something far more important. He reached out and stroked the four-month-old's cheek, marveling at the almost infinite softness of the skin. Alex reacted by reaching out and gripping Kurt's finger in his little fist, but still suckling away in earnest, making cooing noises, his eyes closed in concentration.

"I love when he does that with his father," Miri said.

Kurt stepped back for a moment, to bring the entire little family into his gaze: Nick's proud smile, Miri's deeply intimate connection with Alex, and the aura of contentedness surrounding them. Tears filled his eyes because, not that long ago, this scenario would have been deemed impossible by even the people closest to them. Finn and Rachel's love story had been a broken dream, one of absurd highs and ridiculous lows, and ended by what seemed such cruel fate. Yet Kurt had always adored the sweetness of it, the pure simple sweetness that only death could break. Or so he had thought. To have them here now, like this, with the literal incarnation of that love in his mother's arms, after such epic grief and sorrow, made him feel weak.

"Are you all right, Kurt?" Miri asked, concerned. Alex had finished, and she instinctively brought him up on her shoulder and patted his back. Kurt had no time to answer before the baby let out a loud, monumental burp of contentment, followed by Nick's equally proud grin.

"That's my boy!" Nick cried, and the pride on his face, coupled with Miri's good-natured rolling of her eyes made Kurt burst out laughing. He was still howling when he sat down and poured himself some champagne.

"It's so good to see you," he said, finally, as Alex, propped in his mother's arms, the breeze ruffling his black curls, regarded him solemnly. He had his mother's complexion and his father's nose. Kurt saw deep interest in his eyes, so he leaned forward, making a silly face, sending the baby into a fit of laughter.

"We miss you. All of you." Miri said, and even though he saw supreme happiness in her eyes, he also saw sorrow.

"I know there is a lot you want to ask, Kurt," Nick said, with sadness himself, though he had to smile when Alex gave Kurt a spontaneous, toothless grin. "But you have to trust us to have your best interest at heart by not telling you anything."

Kurt nodded. "I know. So let me fill you in on the news." He wanted to ask if they would see the rest of the family on this trip, but kept his peace. He told them about his wonderful run with _Pippin, _and that he was going to audition next week for some upcoming shows. He and Blaine were still together, and might even get married in the near future, to which Miri clapped her hands in delight, triggering sympathetic clapping from her son as well.

"He'll grow up to be your biggest fan," Nick said. "We'll make sure of it."

"Oh—I almost forgot- you do know Judah and Anne just got married, right?"

Miri and Nick nodded. "We have a gift for them that I hope you can deliver," she said.

"Of course." Kurt sipped more champagne. "He was so overjoyed when he found out you were both alive. I'm still surprised they let him and me reveal what we knew to each other."

"He likes you immensely, Kurt," Mimi said, nibbling on some cheese. "And he sent a letter through Ian saying he struggled not being able to let Anne know the truth, but that he understood what was at stake." She looked at him, imploringly. "Please let him know I'm happy, and that I couldn't have endured without him. I said so in a letter back, but I need you to confirm it. He'll believe you."

The sun was setting behind the lake now, bringing with it a slight chill, so they decided to finish the conversation inside, over a decent dinner. Kurt watched Nick take care of the baby's paraphernalia, letting Miri focus on covering Alex and carrying him inside. He liked the smooth division of labor, and the sweet looks they gave each other, and even though he felt a pain in his chest from knowing they had to leave for a place he could never know, Kurt also felt peace over losing them, at long, long, last.

Miri and Nick were truly together, at last. And as happy as he could ever have hoped for them. And as they walked inside, Kurt caught his nephew's eye and they exchanged a secret look.

He didn't know exactly how he could do it, but Kurt was determined to spoil that kid rotten.


	3. A Gathering of Clouds

She watched the three of them walk along the water's edge: the boy holding his father's hand, and the ever-watchful dog trotting alongside. They were headed for a rocky section of further down the beach to check out the tide pools there, as they did every Saturday morning. The morning sea breeze tousled her son's dark hair exactly the same way it did his father's. He even insisted on wearing the same kind of sunglasses and surfer shorts. The two were inseparable, which warmed her heart no end. It was the perfect karmic gift to the man who never knew his own father. Every few feet the three of them would stoop to examine what the waves had deposited on the sand; Miri knew Alex's pockets would be filled with those treasures when they got back.

From their picnic table under the palm tree, enjoying her coffee—fresh Costa Rican—Miri had a good view of the shallow bay. She idly followed some pelicans flying past, admiring how gracefully they flew, despite their ridiculous appearance. Right before they disappeared around the cusp of the bay, something caught her attention.

She froze. Far down the opposite end of the beach from Alex and Nick, someone was approaching.

It wasn't one of her neighbors. She knew their gaits: the elderly couple from that end of the bay and the middle-aged writer who lived alone on the other. This individual's movements weren't like theirs. It looked like a man—too far away for her to gather much detail—and appeared to have a younger, more purposeful stride. He also didn't seem to be just strolling along the shore, like the very few tourists that did make it this far down the beach from town, triggering her suspicion.

Glancing back at the small figures of her husband and son, Miri reached into her beach bag and pulled out the Beretta 9-millimeter. It had a full clip of 15 rounds already loaded, and there was a spare clip in the bag. With the safety on, she racked the slider back to load the first round into the chamber. The man was still fairly far off, but she wasn't taking any chances. The safety came off with a deadly click; the Beretta was now hot. There was no way, since all she was wearing was a black bikini, to hide the gun on her person, so she pulled the bag over on its side on the table, and slipped the gun inside.

Miri didn't panic. Instead, she calmed herself with the training Andrew had given her. Calm was essential, because any decision to use the gun could have tragic consequences, and she was determined not to make a mistake. She was equally determined, however, to protect her family. Nick took her to a firing range at least once a month, and they drilled until each was an excellent shot with both the 9 and 40-millimeter weapons.

Miri also remembered Andrew's advice to not let rage overwhelm her:

"_It may sound strange," Andrew said, "But you have to treat this as coldly and impersonally as the assassin. To him it will be just a job; you have to look at it the same way. Your job is to protect yourself and your family. Don't let emotion get in your way."_

"_How on Earth can I do that?" It seemed ridiculous. _

_He gave her a strange little smile. _

"_You're an actress. Imagine you're on stage, playing him." _

She watched the man approach. If he was an assassin, his plan was obviously to lull her into complacency, to appear completely normal before striking.

So her plan was to do the same to him.

He kept to the water's edge, glancing down at something in his hand—she couldn't tell what- then stopped in front of their property, and appeared to see her for the first time. He wore a yellow-and-blue Hawaiian print shirt and olive cargo shorts. She swore under her breath—the shorts were baggy, making it difficult to detect if he was armed or not. He had blonde, short, neatly cropped hair and beard, and looked in his early forties. His skin was deeply tanned.

The sea breeze died. Miri felt a trickle of sweat run down her neck. She was glad her hair was up in a ponytail; if the wind picked up it wouldn't blow in her face. A quick glance to her left: Alex, Nick and Molly had disappeared around the other curve of the beach. Good. She almost relaxed, despite the pounding of her heart.

He waved, and started to walk towards her. She sipped her coffee and waved back. As long as his hands were out and in the open she didn't reach into the bag. He stopped in front of the table.

"Hi," he said, and looked down into his hand at what she could see was a business card. His face was open and pleasant.

"_Hola_," Miri replied. It took all of her strength to keep from trembling. He looked embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, but I don't speak Spanish. _No habla espanol_."

Miri forced herself to laugh.

"No problem, I speak English."

Relief crept over his face. "I was wondering if you could help me. I'm looking for Nick Bowden. I was told he lives here." As if to prove it he offered her the card in his hand.

She remained sitting and only glanced at it, still watching his hands. It was a business card with Nick's name and their address written on the back. She didn't recognize the name on the front. His hands were still visible as she returned the card. Any suspicious movement and she knew she would have the drop on him.

"I'm his wife, Miri," she said, and smiled as naturally as she could. If he was an assassin, he already knew who she was and that he had the right place. "Nick won't be back for a few hours. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Oh." He appeared angry with himself. "I knew I should have called ahead, I'm so sorry."

Miri waved at him to sit. He didn't make any suspicious moves, and kept his hands on the table.

"I'm Frank McCandless." The name on the business card. "I'm a friend of Jerry Masters." One of Nick's customers, a wealthy Los Angeles lawyer, for whom he had custom-built a catamaran. Miri let her guard down only slightly, nodding. "I've been on Jerry's boat, and loved it so much I was hoping to commission a boat from Nick, and happened to be in Costa Rica with my wife on vacation. I should have called—again, I'm sorry... It was all spur-of-the-moment."

"No worries, Mr McCandless," Miri said. "But as I said, Nick won't be back for a few hours." She smiled, still keeping an eye on his hands. Inviting him to stay for coffee wouldn't be a good idea. She wanted Nick with her if possible. "Why don't you and your wife have dinner here with us tonight?"

Frank looked relieved and happy.

"Thank you, that's very kind, but better yet, let me buy you and your husband dinner in Quinto, where we can discuss it?" Much better. She couldn't relax, though—any good assassin could have come up with this story.

"Excellent! I'll tell Nick when he gets back. Let me give you his card." She pretended to rummage in the bag. This would be his moment to strike, she thought, and gripped the gun. But Frank didn't make any threatening move, so she pulled out Nick's card and handed it to him.

"Great! He tucked it in his shirt pocket. "Do you have any restaurant recommendations?"

"_El Alcatraz_ has excellent seafood," she offered. He furrowed his eyebrows.

"Alcatraz? As in the prison?"

She smiled, shaking her head. "_Alcatraz_ is Spanish for gannet, a species of seabird."

"Ah..." He nodded. "Well, I'll leave you then. Is seven o'clock okay?"

"Sounds perfect." She would call Maria, their usual babysitter, who adored Alex, and who they trusted implicitly.

He turned to leave. "It's nice meeting you, Miri." It was his voice right then, the uncoached quality of it, that told he he was who he appeared to be. She watched him head back the way he came, letting her muscles relax slowly, as the adrenaline rush subsided. Surprised at how little she trembled, Miri reset the safety, removed the clip from the gun, ejected the bullet in the chamber, and placed it back in the clip. She slid the clip back into the Beretta with a smooth click and reached for her coffee, as if nothing had happened.

Of course, something had happened. Miri had come very close to ending another human being's life. But the strange thing was how little she cared. Any threat to her family would be met with deadly force, it was just that simple. There had been a time when Rachel Berry might have been appalled at that realization. But not now, not after all she had gone through to be with the one man she had ever loved, and would ever love. Not now, after they had brought Alex into this world.

"Mommy, we saw a baby ocapuss!"

"You did?" Miri smiled at her four-year-old's excitement. She served him an avocado sandwich (his favorite) and some milk for lunch.

"Yeah, and he was chasing crabs, but they pinched him and-" he was giggling, "-and he squirted _ink_!" He looked to his father now, as if still unsure that's what had happened. Nick nodded.

"That's right, champ."

"Did he catch any crabs? Miri wanted to know.

"No." Alex paused, furrowing his brow. He took a bite of his sandwich. "I guess he didn't get to eat lunch like us."

"Well, I'm sure he'll eat lunch later, when the tide comes back in," said Miri, sitting down at the table. He husband was grinning.

"We had fun," he said. "How about you?"

"I met a possible client. That's all."

She'd fill him in later, when she could be in his arms and tell him just what she was willing to do to be there.

And she wondered what they would say when the time came for them to tell Alex the truth.

**A/N: Reviews are welcome!**


	4. The Paladin

**A/N: Sorry about the delay. I hope you like this. Reviews are , as always, welcome!**

She awoke with a start, but, after years of caution, was instantly alert. Bright tropical moonlight filled their bedroom, pouring in through the fluttering yellow curtains over the open window. The nightstand clock said 2 am. Her husband was closely entwined with her, as always, and, not wanting to disturb him, Miri carefully lifted her head off his chest and scanned the room. They were alone: Delilah, the young border collie who replaced their beloved Molly, slept with Alex now. Remaining as still as she could, Miri listened, but only heard the insects singing, and the surf. She wondered what had awakened her.

"I heard it too." Nick's whisper startled her. His eyes were open now, glistening in the moonlight. He pulled her closer. "Delilah hasn't reacted," he said. "Maybe it was Alex."

Alex had become a night owl lately, she thought. But he had been asleep when they went to bed. Perhaps something was bothering him.

"I'm getting up," Miri said, figuring she'd never get back to sleep until she was convinced Alex was okay. Nick joined her, but not before pulling out the loaded Berettas from the recess he had built into the headboard for easy access at night. He handed Miri hers.

They checked Alex's room. Neither he nor Delila were there. They checked the house. Nothing. There was a time when Miri would have panicked, when Alex was small. But he was twelve now, and as responsible as she could ever have hoped. And Delilah had proven to be just as vigilant and fiercely loyal as Molly had been. She looked at her husband.

"He's outside," she said, and walked with Nick onto the porch. They stared towards the beach. The moonlight was almost as bright as day. All they could hear was the soft breeze and the surf.

Alex was sitting on the picnic table at the end of the drive, where the beach began. Delilah sat next to him. Their dark images were dappled by the shifting moon shadows from the palms.

"What's he doing out there?" Miri wondered.

"Being Alex," Nick said, and she knew he wasn't being facetious.

Her son mystified her. He was going to be tall, like his father, and shared his facial features, even the nose. But his hair was thick, dark and curly like hers, and he had her eyes and complexion. Already the girls were starting to take notice, despite his relative indifference to them so far, except for Pilar, his best friend from kindergarten. She was becoming a dark-haired beauty herself, with coal-black eyes and delicate bone structure. The two of them shared passions for surfing and sailing. Much of their vacation time was spent together either on the waves or in Nick's workshop, and he always took them with him on sea trials for his boats. At dinner one night Alex told them he and Pilar wanted to build a boat together.

"Then we're going to do the TransPac race to Tahiti" he declared.

Alex hadn't ever referred to Pilar as his girlfriend yet, even though both got good-natured ribbing already from their friends. Miri sometimes expressed worry about how close the two of them were, only to get a chuckle out of Nick.

"Miri, if Pilar ends up meaning to him what you mean to me, I can die happy," he said, caressing her cheek in bed one night. "All you have to do is watch them together to know it's already a strong, healthy friendship. They both have their own friends. They don't spend every minute of their time together. Relax."

He mystified her because he had stopped sharing everything with her and his father. She didn't think he was hiding anything, but missed being his confidant. Nick said it was normal—a sign that he was growing up, and Miri understood, on an intellectual level. But that didn't mean she had to like it. Besides, she had already been forced to accept the fact Alex wasn't particularly musical. Happily, Pilar made up for that by having a beautiful voice herself. Miri and Pilar regularly met for singing dates, and she would drag Alex to his mother's performances.

"Should we go talk to him?" Miri asked.

"I have a better idea," Nick said, and went back in the house. The kitchen lights came on and Miri heard the high whine of the coffee grinder. She smiled. If anything would get Alex back in the house, the prospect of breakfast would.

She was making eggs and Nick had just handed her a cup of coffee when Alex showed up in the doorway, laughing as Delilah pushed past him, headed for her bowl.

Miri loved looking at him: dark, tousled hair-a little too long for her liking, but he loved it that way; skinny and tall, almost lanky, with a faded blue t-shirt and white canvas surfer shorts. The surfing would fill him out as he got older, and he'd really start looking like his father. She could see the silver chain of the St Christopher's medal that Pilar had given him for his birthday last week. St Christopher was the patron saint of surfers, Pilar explained, then showed him the back, where a Star of David was inscribed. "To honor your Jewish heritage as well." The thoughtfulness behind the gift spoke volumes, Miri thought.

"Mom, Dad, it's two in the morning. Isn't that a little early for breakfast?"

"Are you saying you're not hungry?" she asked, and Alex laughed. Miri loved how he glanced over at his father, as if their mutually enormous appetites were some shared secret.

"I could eat," he said. "Thanks."

"Coffee?" Nick asked him. He was allowed one cup a day.

"No, I'm good." Alex pulled some grapefruit juice from the refrigerator and poured himself a glass. "Did I wake you up?" He sat at the table, and glanced at the weapons lying on it. Neither was loaded, now. "Did I scare you?"

"Well, we thought we heard something—we just weren't sure," Nick said, and started making toast.

Alex nodded. Nick and Miri had been open about being gun owners since Alex was small, and had drilled the importance of strict gun discipline into him. They justified it by saying the guns were needed for protection because of their isolation. When he was ten they started taking him to the gun range with them, and he became thoroughly comfortable shooting and cleaning a Beretta. Pilar's parents (who were also American expatriates) were gun owners as well, much to Nick and Miri's relief. For years Miri agonized over the fact she had to be so hyper-vigilant with the guns, especially since they couldn't keep them in a gun safe, given the fact they might have to have them instantly available in an emergency. But it had turned out well, thank God. Alex was almost anal in the way he respected the lethal power of a weapon when it was in his hands. And he never pestered his parents about them, either.

"So, what woke you up?" Nick asked. "You were sound asleep when your mom and I went to bed."

"I think I woke up on my own," Alex said.

"Were you dreaming?" Miri remembered how he used to wake up after a bad dream.

"Maybe. I don't know. I never remember my dreams. "

"Yeah," said Nick. "Me neither. So why did you get up?"

And then it struck Miri. Alex had a strange look on his face.

"Something happened at school." Alex and Pilar went to the American Middle School in Quinta.

"What?" Miri asked. "What was it?"

"Some guy tried messing with Pilar—you know, stupid stuff. He snapped her bra".

Pilar was almost thirteen, and willowy like her mother, but she had begun to develop. She had complained to Miri during one of their singing sessions that she had to go into town with her mother and buy a bra.

"Did you see him do it?" Nick demanded. Miri smiled inside, because she knew Nick thought of Pilar as a daughter.

"No, Dad. But you know her—she told me at lunch." They told each other everything.

Nick paused to let Miri fill their plates with eggs, and he added the toast. They brought everything to the table. Alex watched them, and didn't seem too upset.

"So, did you do anything about it?" Miri knew he had, and so did Nick. And she could see pride in her husband's face when Alex nodded.

"I went up to him in the hall and pushed him up against his locker—I didn't hit him, honest—and I said if he ever laid a hand on her again, he'd have to answer to me."

"You said it like that?" Miri felt tears welling up at her son, this young gentleman they had made, who had the moral compass of a paladin. Alex nodded.

"And what did he do?" Nick asked, trying desperately to keep his composure, too.

"At first it looked like he was going to throw a punch, and I thought we'd get suspended." Then his face became resolute. "But I didn't care, even though he is bigger than me." He ladled some salsa on his eggs. "I'm sorry, Mom, but I kinda hoped he would because all I wanted to do right then was kick his ass." He chuckled softly. "But I'm glad he just slunk away, because Pilar would have had a fit if we had been suspended for fighting."

"If it ended like that, then what bothered you about it enough to wake up at two am on a Saturday morning?" Miri wanted to know. There had to be more to this.

"Well, after the bus dropped us off and we were walking to her house, Pilar said she appreciated what I did, but told me the guy had more to fear from her than from me if he ever tried it again, and that I wasn't to spoil it for her by getting suspended." Alex grinned. "She's scary like that."

Miri saw Nick give her a sideways glance, and giggled inside.

"Then she kissed me."

In the years when Miri had thought Nick was dead, she often imagined what their children might have looked and been like. It never ceased to amaze her that her son was nothing like those fantasies. He was so much better. And she had never expected him to admit something like this to them so easily. She felt an ache in her chest, as if her heart was swelling and her ribs were stopping it. Nick looked at her and she felt light-headed, just as she had when they had kissed in that auditorium.

"What was it like?" she asked, dreamily, and Alex blushed underneath his tan.

"I liked it," he admitted.

"So why did you go outside then?" Nick wanted to know.

"Because I wanted to think about what I was going to do next, because we're going surfing at sunup."

"You're going to kiss her again, I hope," Miri said. "Girls like that, you know."

"Yes, yes, Mom. Of course." He looked thoughtful. "But there's something else—I want to tell her something, and I don't want to scare her."

"You love her, don't you, son?" Nick said, and Miri didn't think she had ever seen him so proud.

"Yeah. I think so, Dad." Alex looked lost at that moment, and Miri knew he was desperate for their advice, and her heart melted to think there were parents who would have given anything to have their children trust them that way. "I mean, I'm sure, but I'm only twelve and can you love a girl at that age, and is it real?"

"Oh, itls real," Miri said, looking at Nick. "You've inherited the ability to recognize true love from your dad and me. Don't make the mistake we made and doubt it. Don't second guess that feeling because, for you, it's as real as it gets."

"But what about Pilar? What if she doesn't feel the same way?" There were tears in her son's eyes, and she ached for him.

"You haven't been paying attention, son," his father said, with a grin. "There's no one else in the world she would rather be with. I know—I saw Pilar's exact same look when I knew your mother loved me. Trust me. Trust your instincts. She feels the same way."

"So—it's okay to tell Pilar that I love her? On the beach? When she's in that bikini that has been driving me crazy?"

His parents nodded.

"Cool," he said, and reached for more toast.


	5. The Redemption of Sally Jones, Part 1

_**A/N: "The Redemption of Sally Jones" will be the final story in this series, and will take multiple chapters to tell. I hope it brings Nick and Miri's story to an epic, satisfying conclusion. As always, reviews are welcome!**_

The delicate dawn light made it easier to see as Miri and Delilah walked along the beach. It revealed some young surfers already in the water. The small bay attracted a number of local surfers now, thanks mostly to Alex and Pilar's activities with their friends before they went off to college together at UC Santa Cruz. They waved, and she waved back. She smoothed her black one piece swimsuit and laughed to herself, thinking about the days when she was able to walk naked on this beach, and the times she swam when she was carrying Alex inside her.

She missed him. And she missed her husband. Nick had sailed a newly-finished boat up to Los Angeles, and was spending some time with Alex and Pilar while Miri was busy with a couple of performances in the capital, San Jose.

Her career had ended up very low-key compared to what she had experienced in New York, which, for the most part, was fine with Miri: it had given her the time to enjoy her family. But the Rachel Berry inside her sometimes made Miri Bowden ache for the life she once had, and as she grew older, the realization that she would probably never have that life again brought out occasional bouts of sadness. She felt fortunate Nick was so supportive when those moments occurred; he surprised her once by saying he wished he could have finished his degree, and immersed himself in music. He even said he missed singing and dancing with her on stage. Miri knew he loved building boats, and that he had accepted his fate because it meant being with her and raising Alex. And both of them still adored each other, awed at the sacrifices each had been willing to make for the other.

But the fact remained, the trajectory of their lives, driven by that mutual love of making music together, had been diverted by the act of one man, now sitting for the rest of his life in prison.

His name was Jack Valenti, a forty-year-old hit man contracted by the Ferrante family to kill Walter Uribe, a vocal anti-mob activist. Ian Billingsley had told Miri and Nick that nobody knew why Valenti had screwed up that day; he wasn't your typical local goombah. Instead, he was known to be thoroughly professional, and would have normally have made sure no customers were in the store when the hit went down. Miri always felt a chill down her spine when she remembered Ian going on to say Valenti would have went ahead and killed anyone else in the store if he had known they were there. But somehow he screwed up, and didn't notice Nick (which Nick tried to joke about, saying it was the first time he had ever been so inconspicuous, but which terrified Miri every time she thought about it).

It broke Miri's heart to think he had only been in that flower shop because of his love for her. He bought them because he wanted to tell her he was planning on going to graduate school in New York, because he couldn't live apart from her anymore. Thinking about that reminded her of Jesse's remark about her deserving epic romance. Well, she had been given epic romance in spades. What was it Logan Echolls had said to Veronica Mars?

_**I thought our story was epic, you know. You and me. Spanning years and continents. Lives ruined and blood shed. Epic.**_

Miri doubted Jesse could ever have imagined how prescient his remark had been. Had he mourned her? She wondered, sometimes. She wondered about the friends that hadn't been told: Mercedes, Tina, Santana and Brittany, Quinn, Artie, Mr Shue and Emma, Oh Lord.

She cursed Jack Valenti and the Ferrante family. And as the years went by Miri grew weary of the constant vigilance, the never being able to enjoy true relaxation with her family, the necessity of not telling her precious son how his life had been in danger since he'd been conceived because just knowing about it could make things even worse. The only consolation was that they had been reunited, and had given each other Alex. Living in Paradise didn't hurt, either.

Miri wished she could take off her bathing suit right then; the cool morning breeze would have felt wonderful on her skin. Instead, she followed Delilah's gaze up the beach. A distant figure was walking towards them. Someone she knew and trusted, who had sent her a text from a burner phone about meeting on the beach like this. It was Andrew. He had urgent news, news too important to talk about via phone, he had said. So here she was, wishing Nick were here as well.

Delilah remained at Miri's side. The black-and white border collie was much like Molly had been, with strong herding and protection instincts for her family. But she always waited for cues from her masters before responding, unbless they wer asleep or incapacitated. People she knew were friends—especially Pilar- were smothered in doggy kisses on arrival. She would not react to strangers unless instructed to. Miri adored her devotion to Alex. The old adage about a boy and his dog were true, which caused Miri some concern for her when Alex left for college with Pilar. It was bad enough her son and girlfriend were leaving Costa Rica, she had thought, but to have to leave Delilah behind...But her concerns were groundless- Delilah's herding instincts simply transferred to Nick, and she spent much of her time in the workshop, chasing mice and watching him work.

Miri appreciated how Delilah would get Nick out of the workshop more, to go run with the dog on the beach. Even at the age of forty-three, Nick Bowden remained the handsomest man she had ever seen: still lean and buffed, with that boyish half smile and Paul Bunyan appetite. And he was happy. He often said all he ever needed was to be loved by her and to be able to love his son. Miri sometimes wondered how she deserved having someone who loved her as deeply as Nick did, but now, after so many years of stability, she had begun to ease herself into accepting the wonderful prospect of growing old with him.

Andrew was drawing nearer, so Miri started walking again, Delilah loping along, deeply interested in this new person. Ian had retired ten years ago, and now mostly managed the financial details, leaving the running of the day-to-day operations to Andrew, who was now in his early fifties. The ex-SAS sergeant was as competent as ever, but Miri missed Ian's urbane, witty manner. Still, she also adored Andrew's quiet kindness, which masked his terrifyingly efficient skill at eliminating threats. He was wearing a reverse-print blue and white Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, and had kept his impressive physique- Miri thought he resembled a barefoot Rupert Everett. She didn't think he was bearing bad news, even if this was the first time she had seen him since they had met in Austin when they were traveling north to introduce Alex to the family. Something in his manner- he seemed more relaxed—told her otherwise.

"Hi Andrew," she said, and reached out to hug him. Delilah, taking her cue, wagged her tail and accepted his petting. He hugged her warmly back.

"Good morning, Miriam, its lovely to see you again." They stood together for a moment, watching the sunrise. Then Andrew spoke.

"I apologize for coming whilst Nicolas is away," he said. " I hope you don't mind that Ian made a special trip to Santa Cruz to relay the news this morning, so that you both could be told at the same time."

"Told what?" Miri had an idea what it might be, but couldn't allow herself to believe it. She couldn't even bring herself to say it. Andrew looked down at her.

"Jack Valenti died in prison last week."

He let that sink in for a moment, and Miri felt weak at the knees all of a sudden.

"How?" she asked, still staring at the water.

"In his sleep. A massive heart attack, apparently."

"Pity," Miri said. "He deserved worse."

"Indeed."

She should have felt elation, or relief. But the tone of Andrew's voice, the calm, matter-of-factness in the way he delivered the news told her otherwise. She continued to stare out at the water, as a pelican, out for an early breakfast, gracefully flew by. The voices of the young surfers carried across the bay on the soft breeze.

"It's not over, is it?"

"No, I'm sorry." Andrew sighed. "The contract on Nick remains in force." But then he put his arm around her shoulders as she started to crumple, and astonished her to her very soul:

"But you might be able to change that."

**_To Be Continued_**


	6. The Redemption of Sally Jones Part 2

**A/N: I apologize for this being so short- I have other writing commitments in the real world- but I wanted to give you something to think about until I can address the story fully again. Reviews are welcome! **

"How could I possibly change it?" Miri asked, surprised. It sounded ridiculous on its face. "I'm just an actress." She stared out again at the calm water, tinged a delicate pink from the sunrise. Then it struck her. "Wait—I'm dead, remember?"

Andrew shook his head. "I'm afraid the Ferrantes weren't fooled. They knew about you and Finn. The head of the family, Giancarlo Ferrante, had no idea—his only interest in the arts is an almost stereotypical love of Italian opera. No, it was his son, Frank, who put two-and-two together, mainly because of his love of Broadway. He was at the Tony awards ceremony where you gave your acceptance speech." Andrew cringed at the irony. "He was one of Rachel Berry's biggest fans."

"So I screwed everything up?" Miri suddenly felt sick.

Andrew put a hand on her shoulder. "No, _Rachel_. Not at all. You made it possible to end this."

"What are you talking about?"

"Not here," Andrew said. "Point back the way we came, as if you are giving me directions. I'll come to the house this evening." Then he smiled, gently. "But I will tell you this: Giancarlo has passed the reins of the Ferrante family on to his son, who, by all accounts is just as vicious as his father. So, by a strange twist of fate, the man who now holds the contract on your husband's life is also your biggest fan."


	7. The Redemption of Sally Jones, Part 3

**A/N: another brief installment. Thanks for hanging in there; your patience and loyalty is so appreciated. Reviews welcome!**

She didn't mean to get herself drunk. Just a drink to calm her nerves until Andrew returned. But her ability to handle alcohol had severely eroded over the years. Probably because I was happy, she thought miserably, sitting on her picnic table in the shade of the palm, with a glass and an old bottle of Macallan 21-year-old scotch.

Miri had fantasized for years about what would happen if Jack Valenti died in prison, but they had all involved the Mob canceling the contract, even though Ian had told her it wasn't predictable.

"It depends on a lot of things, Miri," Ian had said. "One thing in your favor is, Valenti isn't family. He's just a hired gun."

But Andrew had told her this Frank Ferrante was a vicious thug, just like his father. She took a sip. How could his being a fan of hers make any difference to someone like that? Did anyone really think he'd just cancel a contract as a favor to her? It didn't make any sense, so Miri fell deeper into despair, figuring Andrew wouldn't have any real plan in mind.

Delilah appeared at her side, sensing Miri's mood, and nudged her elbow with her nose.

"You're right, girl," Miri said, and stood up. It was eleven o'clock now, and very warm. "I need a swim." She looked up and down the beach—it was deserted now, the surfers gone. And she didn't feel like going back to the house and changing, so Miri stripped off her t shirt and shorts and underwear, and, with a tipsy laugh, ran across the beach into the surf. Delilah followed her to the water's edge, and, like Molly, sat watchfully as her mistress swam hard for a half hour.

The water was cooler than the air, and helped clear the boozy haze. Miri swam up and down, parallel to the beach, with strong, powerful strokes. Swimming was now her favorite exercise, ever since she was pregnant and the buoyancy eased her aching body. She liked how it forced her to coordinate strokes and the taking of breaths, and how it felt to knife through the clean, salty water. It toned her body perfectly, too, something Nick appreciated. The thought of Nick looking at her almost threw Miri off her rhythm. She missed him; she always missed him when they weren't together, which wasn't very often, thank goodness.

Delilah's bark startled her. She stopped and found her footing, shading her eyes against the sun. The dog was wagging her tail: a good sign. The waves tugged at her body as she looked back at the house. Miri panicked at first: two men were walking towards the beach, and even though Delilah had identified them as friendly, Miri remembered she wasn't wearing any clothes. But one of the men remained by the picnic table, set back under the palms, while the other walked further onto the sand. She laughed in astonishment and delight- it was Nick, and he was holding a towel. They must have seen her clothes on the picnic table.

The alcohol left in her system made her feel naughty, so, instead of waiting for Nick to arrive at the water's edge, Miri started running towards him, probably giving the other man—she could see now it was Andrew- a brief eyeful.

"Jesus, Miri," Nick laughed, holding the towel in front of him open as Miri ran into his chest. He wrapped Miri in it, then carried her in his arms back to the picnic table, kissing her as they went.

"Sorry, Andrew," Miri giggled. "When you surprise me with my husband like that, you have to expect an unusual amount of PDA."

Andrew just smiled, with a twinkle in his eye. "I hope you don't mind us flying him home for this. We thought it would be better if you were together when I tell you what we know."

Miri touched his face with an outstretched hand. "You have no idea how much better I feel, now that Nick's here." She looked at her husband with a teary eye, then gathered her clothes. "It's almost lunchtime. We can talk while we eat. Nick, I bought some fresh dorado fillets yesterday you can grill up. I'll start the vegetables."

Nick followed her into the house and kissed her before she went into the bathroom for a quick shower.

"What did Ian tell you?" Miri asked, hanging up her towel.

"The same as you."

"Okay, good." Then she paused before getting in. "Do the kids know?" They considered Pilar their daughter.

"No. That wouldn't be fair."

"You're right," she said, and then smiled tenderly at him. "You know I will do anything for you." Her heart warmed at his reaction.

"You're my Rachel," he said, and she knew it wasn't a slip of the tongue. "And I'm your Finn. It's what we do."

She got into the shower, and felt his gaze, wishing he could join her. "Go have a drink with Andrew and fire up the grill," she said. "I'll bring out the fillets when it's time."

When the vegetables were done, cooked in a spicy, gingery sauce, Miri brought out the fish.

"Nick uses a very hot grill, " she explained to Andrew. "The fillets will take only a few minutes." She joined Andrew and poured herself a drink.

"I hope you know how much I appreciate your flying Nick here," she told him.

"You both deserved to hear this together," Andrew said. They looked out to sea and didn't speak anymore until Nick announced the fish was ready. Miri went back in the house and brought out the pot of vegetables, ladling them over the fish. Each dish gave off a savory, gingery scent. Andrew sighed in pleasure. Nick opened a cold bottle of California chardonnay.

"Whenever something happens that could change the status of our people, we have a procedure worked out," Andrews said, after praising the meal. "In this case, when we heard Valenti had died, we went through channels to contact the Ferrante family, inquiring about the status of the contract."

"Is that when they told you it was still in force?" Miri asked, shuddering at the thought of even talking to such people.

"No, not right away," Andrew said. "That is not unusual. They came back with a request for us to meet with their lawyers. I arranged the meeting in New York, under heavy security for both sides, in a restaurant in Queens that they specified." He smiled. "It was cheesy, actually, almost straight out of _The Godfather. _Heavy on atmosphere and intimidation."

Miri liked the contempt Andrew showed for them in his voice. She squeezed Nick's hand.

"The sickening thing about these people is, they look at Nick as the bad guy. They cultivate this familial myth about how what they do is legitimate because it protects the family. They came to me, quite literally, as the aggrieved party in all of this."

He took a sip of wine.

"I asked up front—again-what the status was regarding the contract, now that Valenti was dead. And the head lawyer repeated that Nicks offence against the family was in no way mitigated by Valenti's death." Andrew leaned forward, with a smile. "And then it got interesting."

Miri squeezed Nick's hand.

"He said, 'Normally, we keep such contracts in force'. I was intrigued, and let him continue. He said other circumstances made this case different."

"Different?" Nick asked. He looked at Miri. "What the hell?"

"He meant me," Miri said. "Right, Andrew?"

"Yes, and a young woman from the Bronx named Donnatella DiFazio."

"Who?" Miri and Nick asked together. Andrew grinned.

"She is a pretty young lady who worked at a coffee bar that Frank Ferrante frequented. She married him right before you won the Tony award. He even took her to see _Mount Olympus Blues_ on their first date." Then Andrew sighed. "Rachel Berry signed her playbill that night."

The thought she had been so physically close to Frank Ferrante made Miri's skin crawl.

"She has it framed and on a wall in their home. It's her favorite show, and both of them consider you their favorite actress."

"But what does this have to do with Nick's contract?"

"Well, prior to his father relinquishing control to his son, Frank wasn't privy to all of the family operation details. But when he took over, as he was being briefed on all of the contracts, Finn Hudson's came across his desk, and he remembered the name from your Tony awards speech. He had the pull to get tickets, and took his new wife to the ceremony, and the after party." Andrew reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph. "There was a picture taken of you with them at that party."

Miri felt sick. She was standing, smiling, in between the two of them, each draping an arm around her shoulder. Donnatella was a dark, slender beauty, and even Frank looked fresh-faced, without a hint of cruelty. How was she to have known?

"I'm sorry, Finn-" she choked out, only to have him make everything better.

"Lord, you looked gorgeous in that dress," Nick said.

She stared at him, incredulous.

"I was cavorting with the Devil incarnate, and that's all you got out of this picture?"

His nodding grin made her want to just kiss him in front of Andrew, so she did, because she knew his response was completely genuine. When it came to his love for her, Finn Hudson never pretended, or told her what she wanted to hear.

"Sorry for the unscheduled PDA," Nick said to the gently smiling Andrew. Go on."

"He knows Rachel Berry faked her death, and assumed she joined you in hiding. And here's the interesting part: he respects that."

"I have a question," Miri said. Andrew paused. "Does Donatella know about all of this?"

Andrew nodded. "Oh yes. We have no idea how she feels about the killing or the contract, but she knows what her husband's family does for a living. And Frank told her about this particular one."

"So she could be just as callous as her husband, then."

"That's right."

Miri nodded. This was just so surreal.

"The lawyer got this strange look on his face, then said that, despite the family's long-standing custom of honoring contracts no matter what, they might make an exception in this case, on one condition." He paused again, and Miri could see Andrew was having a hard time saying it.

"What condition?" Nick demanded. "What could those motherfuckers possibly want besides my head?"

Andrew took a deep breath.

"They said the family will consider canceling the contract if Rachel Berry gives Donatella and Frank a personal concert, in New York, of Sally Jones's solos from _Mount Olympus Blues_."


	8. The Redemption of Sally Jones, Part 4

**A/N: Another short installment I was able to squeeze in. Thanks for your patience! **

"Out of the question!" snapped Nick. Miri had never seen him so angry. "There's no way Miri's going to sing for those assholes."

Andrew nodded acknowledgment, neither approving nor disapproving. But, as much as Miri appreciated Nick's concern, she was willing to at least discuss it.

"Andrew, just the thought of being near them, after seeing the picture, makes me want to throw up," she said. Then she turned to her husband, and took his hand. "Finn," she said, choosing the name deliberately, "Let's listen to what Andrew has to say, okay?" It broke her heart to see his face twist in anguish, and she almost took it back when he just sighed, then kissed her.

"If you say so," he said. "I trust your judgment."

She turned to Andrew. "First things first. What about security?"

Andrew smiled. "I'll be there with you," he said, "As well as other members of my staff: one US Marine, a Royal Marine commando, and a French paratrooper. They won't get past us, trust me."

"We trust you implicitly," Miri said with a smile, and looked to Nick, who nodded solemnly. "So—security isn't an issue. But you said the Ferrantes would _consider_ canceling the contract if I do this. What's to stop them from getting a free concert and then reneging?"

Andrew was unperturbed. "They've never dealt with us before, and I think they were a bit naïve." Miri noticed an unfamiliar expression on Andrew's face. It was the first time she had ever seen an underlying coldness to him, but then she thought: the guy deals with thugs and murderers. He had to be able to show some emotional detachment.

"Did they think Rachel wouldn't give them their fucking money's worth?" Nick growled.

"They may have—at first." Andrew smiled now, but it was a cold smile. "But when I informed them of the consequences of reneging, reality set in, and the momentum of the discussion fell our way. One of the lawyers left to make a call—I'm sure it was to Frank—and when he came back he said his clients were sure Ms Berry would give her all."

"Did you remind them I'm twenty years older now?" Miri asked. "I'm not sure I can hit some of the high notes with as much power anymore."

Nick scoffed, making her smile. But Miri was uncertain still.

"I'm serious- I don't want them to have a legitimate excuse to back out of the deal."

"I reminded them," Andrew said.

"What did you tell them the consequences were for reneging?" Nick asked.

The coldness remained. "It's best you not know anything about that," Andrew said. "But I think they will honor the deal, if they think Rachel gives a true performance." He sipped his wine, and Miri saw Andrew's warmth return. She really had no idea what he was capable of, and the thought that a Mob family might actually fear him gave her a chill. "You touched these people, Rachel. You reached the human in them, somehow. I know its odd, thinking of monsters as having feelings, but strip away the Mob trappings, and Frank and Donnatella are two people still madly in love, and you played an important part in their relationship. I think they respect you as an artist enough to know you would never give anything less than your best. What disgusts me is, the fact that they have put you in the position of having to literally sing for your husband's life doesn't bother them in the least. " Then he said something that chilled Miri to her very soul: "I found myself wondering how many spouses pleading for their husband's life they ignored."

They sat silently, as the sound of the waves and the sea birds tried to ease their hearts, and failed.

"You don't have to do this," Nick said, taking her hand. "We've had a good life here, and still can."

He was crying now, and Miri realized what she had to do. He was right about them having a beautiful life here, with Alex, and she loved him even more for his willingness to stay here to protect her. But the fact remained she had internalized a monstrous rage all of this time. He didn't know that every time they went to the gun range she fantasized about killing every single member of the Ferrante Mob. Even talking here she had toyed with the idea of sneaking a weapon into the performance and putting a round each in Frank and Donnatella's heads.

And she hated that feeling. She just wanted it to stop. But, being Rachel Berry, she decided to take advantage of it for once and let that rage fuel her performance. So they wanted Sally Jones, did they? Well, she would give those motherfuckers a Sally Jones they'd never forget.

She took Nick's hand. "I have to do this, Finn. I have to end this. And I know I can." Miri knew she had convinced him when she saw, in his eyes, recognition of that old Rachel Berry flame. The flame he had fallen in love with.

Nick nodded, swallowing hard. She turned to Andrew.

"I'll need the best help to rehearse," she said. "I'll have to do it in New York. And it will mean bringing two more people into the circle of those who know the truth."

She prayed Tom Foley and Emily Lauder would forgive her.


	9. The Redemption of Sally Jones, Part 5

**A/N: Almost there. Again, I'm grateful for your patience. Reviews welcome!**

Miri sat on the couch in the living room of the hotel suite, fidgeting. She wished Nick were with her, but Andrew said the Ferrantes might guess she would rehearse in New York and try and take advantage of it by launching an attempt to kill him.

"Even after you warned them about what would happen if they reneged?" she asked.

"People like these don't often act recklessly, but they do, on occasion," Andrew said. He looked at her tenderly. "After all this time, and all the two of you have been through, I'd hate to give them the opportunity. Not when we're this close to ending it."

Miri thought about the years of paranoia, the constant gun awareness, the suspicion of strangers, and fear for her son as well as her husband, and nodded, finally, in agreement.

"Thank you. That helps." She smoothed her black dress, and fiddled with her ponytail. "How do I look?"

He gave her a paternal gaze. "You were little more than a girl when we first met," he said. "I was struck then at how pretty you were, even as your sorrow weighed upon you. But now... " She could see warmth in his look. "The years have been good to you. The peace of having Nick, and having your son give you a mature, serene beauty that the girl did not possess. So, to answer your question," he smiled, "You look beautiful."

She was nervous about meeting Tom and Emily, he knew. Miri had confessed to Andrew her fears about how Tom and Emily might react to finding out she had deceived them the way she did. And despite Andrew's assurances, Miri ran her apology through her mind, over and over. They hadn't been told anything yet, and were coming here on a false pretense. Nothing could be left to chance, Andrew had said.

There was a knock on the door. Andrew stood up and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Are you ready?" he asked her.

Miri nodded, her mouth dry. She watched him leave and stood up, trembling. Once, Tom and Emily had been her most intimate artistic partners as well as close friends. And for twenty years they had believed her dead. She couldn't help imagining them being furious at her.

She couldn't see the door from where she was standing, but heard muffled voices.

And then they were in the room. In the instant between their eyes seeing her and their brains processing the images, Miri took them in:

Tom looked pretty much the same, filled out a little more, but still handsome, with wrinkles in his forehead now, and gray hairs woven into that curly mop of his. He still wore the open-neck white shirt under a dark jacket and slacks he always had. Emily had maintained her lithe dancer's body. She seemed even leaner now, despite being the mother of two daughters. Her blonde hair was pulled back, revealing fine lines around those pale blue eyes. Black tailored pants and heels, with a royal blue shirt under a black blazer; Miri remembered how elegant Emily always looked.

Then the recognition set in. It was more like shock, actually: their mouths opened for a second, eyes widening. Emily dropped her bag on the floor.

"R-Rachel?" Her right hand flew to her chest and Miri saw tears welling up. She felt tears of her own coming.

Tom stood there, then shook his head violently. "Oh my God..." was all he said, but then his face lit up into a tearful smile and he rushed forward, pulling her to him in a powerful hug. She rested her head on his shoulder, and realized he was sobbing. "You're alive. Oh my God..." Emily joined him.

She told them everything except where she lived-for their own good, just in case- and delighted how their faces lit up when she revealed that Finn was alive as well. Emily and Tom also held no grudges, much to her relief.

"I know the perfect place to rehearse," Tom said. "There's this high school auditorium we can use, since its the summer."

"Let me know what kind of money you need for the space and the musicians," Andrew said.

"Musicians?" Miri didn't understand. "We're going with a full orchestra?"

"I'm afraid Mr Billingsley insisted," Andrew said with a grin. Miri felt tears well up atr the thought of that good man who had made their life possible.

"We can start with just me on a piano and Emily to help polish the choreography." Tom was getting excited as his mind ran over the possibilities. "I don't think it will take more than two weeks—I think you'll find yourself falling into old memory patterns, Rachel—I mean Miri."

"I want four days, possibly more, with her first, Tom," Emily said, looking Rachel over. "We need to analyze her physical strengths and weaknesses—that information will help us form a conditioning program, and help you decide if you have to make some musical changes to accommodate her ability to make the moves." She patted Miri's shoulder. "We'll make it as seamless as possible." She glanced at Andrew. "You did mention to them we might have to make some changes to accommodate Rachel's age, right? I mean-" she gave Miri an apologetic grin. "You look in excellent shape, but you do remember those high kicks at the end, right? "

Miri winced at the thought. "Yes, I remember." She went to the bar. "McCallan eighteen-year, anyone?" They all shared a wonderful laugh over the drink.

"They understand," Andrew said. "One advantage we do have is, interestingly enough, the fact that they are star-struck fans of Rachel Berry."

Miri didn't confide her true feelings. Frank and Donatella may be fans, she thought, but part of all this was their desire to see her grovel for her husband's life.

And so it began. The hours of physical preparation: it took a week of just stretching till her body screamed to get Miri flexible enough to attempt the choreography, and another two weeks to master the moves. Tom was patient, working on assembling the music and then decided to just begin rehearsals with the musicians. All they knew was, this was for a personal performance for some rich guy and his wife, and it had to be perfect. Some of them asked who was going to be singing, and were told it was a closely guarded secret to surprise the guy's wife. Tom suspected that one or two of the older musicians had put two-and-two together, so he and Andrew pulled them aside, with offers of money for their silence, and Andrew went even far enough to warn them of possible deadly consequences should they ever reveal what they knew. It turned out the musicians had been in the orchestra for the original run of _Mount Olympus Blues_, and were overjoyed to find out Rachel Berry was alive. Miri cried when Tom reported they both refused the money and pledged their silence out of respect for her.

When it was time to begin singing, Miri was shy and reluctant, but when she was greeted with a standing ovation from the musicians- most of whom were too young to be familiar with her—she felt her old confidence return. Each day before rehearsal she would stand in the wings listening to the orchestra tune up, just as she had all those years ago. And her heart soared when she heard them play—Andrew and Ian had recruited some of the best musicians she had ever heard- it must have cost a fortune. And she cried after the first run-through, because they stood up and pledged to keep everything to themselves. For her.

Her musical memory returned quickly, and Miri surprised herself by actually being able to hit those old notes and hold them. And her body didn't fail her, although that first high-kick took her breath away.

Eventually, she could not prepare any more.

"Tom and Emily say I'm ready", she told Nick, who she called every night on a special burner phone.

"How do you feel?" her husband asked. She knew only her opinion mattered to him.

"I think I'm ready," she said. "I feel like I did before I stepped out on stage for the first time for _Funny Girl._ Powerful and confident. I can do this, Nick. And then we'll be free."

"Free to start again. In New York. As ourselves."

She wondered what he meant by that. "Are you going to make boats here? What about Costa Rica? And Alex and Pilar?"

"I'm done making boats," he said, then made her heart ring like a finely-tuned bell: "I'm going to be making music with Rachel Berry again, in the city we were destined to make it in. We'll give the Costa Rica house to the kids. What do you say?"

"I'm telling Andrew to set the date."

A few days later, in a rented theater in Manhattan, the woman once known as Rachel Berry checked her phone in the dressing room. There was a text from her husband, the man once known as Finn Hudson:

_**Break a leg. I love you. (there—I've always wanted to say both together). **_

She smiled, confident now. And as he made her way to the stage, accompanied by Jacques, the wiry, fierce-looking French ex-paratrooper, Rachel Berry was ready to reclaim her life and those of her family.

Sally Jones was about to make her mark, again.


	10. The Redemption of Sally Jones, Part 6

**A/N: Thanks for your patience so far—yet again. Reviews Welcome!**

Miri's heart was thudding in her chest when she made the last turn towards the stage. She kept smoothing the tight, short black dress she had made popular all of those years ago. She felt silly in it; she was a 42-year-old mother, and hadn't worn such a young woman's dress for years. But she saw Andrew and Tom nod approvingly, and Emily put her arm around her shoulder.

"You look fabulous," she said. "I still can't believe it's you. It's like you haven't aged at all."

But she had. Her abs weren't as toned as they used to be, but luckily there were foundation garments for that. And the heels, which she used to wear with ease, took quite a bit of work to make tolerable. She smiled for a moment: all those years barefoot on the beach were still worth it. The final look in the mirror eased her concerns. Sally Jones had never looked hotter. She texted a picture to Nick, with the caption:

_**Showtime. How do I look? **_

Then she howled with laughter at his reply: a picture of him naked, obviously aroused, with a cocky grin.

_**I love you, **_she texted back. And found strength in his reply:

_**I love you too. You can do this. I'm in the front row, center seat. **_

She found out later that Andrew had wired a small camera in that seat, and had streamed the performance back to Nick, live.

She looked to find her marks on the edge of the stage without looking at the seats; she didn't want to look at them any more than she had to. The off-Broadway theatre was familiar- her friend Marge had performed there, and Miri remembered its smell, of old floorboards and rosin dust from the strings in the pit. She looked down at the orchestra—they were waiting, patiently, and, to her shock, Miri saw Tom at the podium, not the conductor that had been rehearsing with them. He winked at her, and she felt a surge of confidence. She looked to her left and right, and saw her escorts, alert and ready.

She looked out. At the back of the theatre, several body guards in suits stood, hands clasped in front of them. She almost laughed when she saw one actually shoot his cuffs, like a real wise guy. Andrew had been right about them being a collection of Mob clichés.

Finally, it was time to look at the two of them. They sat in the third row, just left of center. Presumably, those were the seats they had on their first date. How strange, she thought, that these two were capable of such human sentiment when it came to them, and yet so pitiless and cruel when it came to others.

They looked disappointingly normal. Frank wore a dark suit and black shirt with a white tie (another cliché, she noted). He had dark hair and what looked like a baby face, but at another angle he more closely resembled a rat, to her grim satisfaction. Donnatella surprised her: tall and slender, her hair in a fashionable cut (Miri had expected some blowsy beehive thing), and wore a close-fitting, but understated white dress. Miri caught a glitter from her wedding ring; the stone must have been huge to give off a flash like that. She looked down at her own simple ring, the one Nick had bought when they were seventeen, and she felt his love lift her up. Not quite sure what to do next, she stood, silent for a moment.

Then came the magic.

Tom raised his arms and the musicians stood, facing her, and began applauding—loudly. This caught Frank and Donnatella off-guard, and Miri, acknowledging the musicians, with a broad smile, secretly loved how the Ferrantes scrambled to their feet to join the applause as well, upstaged by Tom's sly move.

It was then, and only then, when she received their adoration, that she was ready. With a smile, Miri Bowden addressed them:

"I'm _Rachel Berry_," she said, emphasizing the name that she was determined to reclaim. "And I'm here to perform for you."

In high school they had called her a diva, not knowing that, on Broadway, it was a compliment. It didn't mean being haughty or condescending. No, it meant being of such talent that it commanded respect. What made this moment special was, Rachel Berry had just turned the tide on the two thugs in the third row. Ostensibly this had been a command performance to plead for her husband's life. Not anymore. They were fans, and before they really understood what had happened, Rachel Berry had placed them under her spell, and was about to push every one of their emotional buttons.

She had planned it from the beginning.

"They are two people hopelessly in love, " she had told Tom and Emily the first night back in New York. "I'm going to have to keep hammering on that. I have to make them forget why we're really there. I have to leave them emotionally wrung out, but in a positive way."

"What do you mean," Tom asked.

"I have to make Sally Jones redeemable again, which will require a change in the way I portray her, especially in the last song."

_Mount Olympus Blues _was Tom Foley's darkly brilliant retelling of the Hermaphroditus myth from Ancient Greece. Sally Jones, the self-absorbed, narcissistic lawyer in the show was the water nymph Salmacis, who falls in love with the married Herman/Hermaphroditus, and when rebuffed, relentlessly attempts seducing him, but fails. In the myth, the rejected Salmacis beseeches the gods to fuse the two of their bodies together (hence the term, "hermaphrodite"); in _Mount Olympus Blues_, Sally drugs and rapes Herman, becoming pregnant with his son, symbolically fusing them. She then leverages Herman's love for the child to destroy his marriage and career, chaining him to her and the boy forever.

In Tom's original vision, Sally Jones was more sympathetic, revealing despair over unrequited love. Rachel had played her character that way at first, but never felt comfortable with that interpretation. What Sally did seemed irredeemable, in her eyes, and, in a controversial move, convinced Tom, the director, and the producers to make a subtle change in the way she played Sally, easing back the despair and replacing it with a pure, burning, self-serving madness instead. It's closer to the original myth, she argued. They admitted later that this one change earned the show the Tony awards it received, including Rachel's. Audiences were left emotionally drained by its stark darkness, yet kept coming back and telling their friends just how good a show it was.

Rachel told Tom and Emily she needed to go back to the original interpretation, so she could press every advantage she had over them.

"Deep down, they're romantics," she said, "In a long-lasting marriage. I want them to feel so much more in love after my performance that they forget why they have the contract out in the first place." She gave them a grim smile. "I want Sally Jones to bewitch them into giving me what I want."

The Ferrantes said nothing after applauding, and just sat down. Rachel took a deep breath, and went to work.

She knew musicians tended to save their best for performances, but in this case, they exceeded her expectations. It never occurred to her how much her resurrection meant to them, how much she had been respected on Broadway. They carefully adhered to Tom's direction, helping her hone Sally Jones's character as a person worthy of sympathy. They soared just at the right moments, and drew soft when she had to let the quaver in her voice take hold on the Ferrante's hearts. At the end of each song, she tried gauging their reaction, but all she could hear was enthusiastic applause- the lights prevented her from seeing them very well. It proved easier than she had expected- at this point, there was nothing more that she could do but adhere to the performance plan. Tom kept giving her encouraging feedback as the concert progressed, and her voice had never felt better. And when those fiendish high notes came in the sixth and final song, Rachel Berry managed to hit them perfectly, maybe even stronger than before, along with the high kicks that she knew her body would make her pay for afterwards. But it was all worth it, she kept telling herself.

And then it was over. Rachel stood, sweat streaming from her face, her hair afly, legs aching, chest heaving. She did not bow; she would never bow to them. And the lights came on, and she could see them standing and applauding. Donnatella looked happy, she guessed. Frank's did too, but with a strange twist.

"Thank you, Ms Berry," he said. "It was an excellent performance." Then he took his wife's hand and they started to walk out of the theatre.

Her heart sank. Was that it? She wanted to shout out: Hey assholes- what about the contract? But they were gone, except for one of their goombahs standing at the foot of the stage, the one she saw shooting his cuffs. He reached up to hand her a white card.

"Mrs Ferrante asked that you sign dis," he said, in a ridiculously broad Bronx accent.

She looked at it. It resembled an old-fashioned party invitation, in flowing script, announcing her performance, with the date and location. Donnatella would probably get it framed and mounted on her wall, regardless of the contract decision, Rachel thought bitterly.

"I don't have a pen," she said.

He fumbled in his jacket and produced an expensive fountain pen. There was nothing to write on, so she carefully lowered herself into a sitting position on the stage, dangling her legs and inadvertently gave the bodyguard an eyeful up her skirt. He surprised her by blushing and turning away. She leaned over, placed the card on the stage, and signed her name-nothing more- glancing around and noticing her bodyguards with weapons at the ready just in case.

"Thank you for being a gentleman," she said softly, handing him the card and pen back.

He blushed again. "My mama raised me right." Before turning to leave he added,

"You wuz great, Ms Berry. Really great."

And then he was gone.

She was wondered what was supposed to happen next when Tom brought the musicians to their feet again, and the cheering began.


	11. The Redemption of Sally Jones, Part 7

They had to walk up a steep, grassy rise to get to the spot. A beautiful, mature oak at the summit guided them, the weather humid but fine, not a cloud in the sky. She gripped his hand, feeling that old tightness in her chest when she used to visit by herself.

"I came whenever I could," she said, tears coming freely now. "I cleaned your headstone and brought you flowers, and prayed for your soul, even as my own felt itself slowly dying."

He remained silent, but squeezed her hand back. At the summit they looked down at the road where their car was parked, and waved to their son and his future wife, who elected to let them have this moment to themselves. Then they turned west to take in the view of Lima's cornfields, green and tassled, under the mid- summer sun. But soon she pulled at his hand, leading him to face his grave for the first time.

For twenty years, Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson lay together at the top of that grassy rise, under the fine shade of the oak, in the town where they had been born, and met, and fallen in love. And, for over twenty years, the world thought this was where they had been, tethered in death, just as they had been in life.

She could see him struggling with his emotions. He had often told her how bad he felt at first, when he wasn't allowed to tell anyone what had happened, and how he had, in desperation, turned to Ian Billingsley for help.

"We've had a good life, right?" he asked, finally.

She smiled.

"Living in paradise? With you? And with Alex? Yeah, I'd say we have lived a very good life."

But she knew he needed reassurance that the nightmarish aspects were over. "And it's only going to get better, Finn."

"It's hard to believe it's over, that we're finally free," he said, then gently pulled her to him by her shoulders. "Thanks to you." And he kissed her deeply as her hair was ruffled by a stray, soft, puff of wind.

She was ambivalent about her own grave, perhaps because her parents and very close loved ones knew the truth from the beginning. It broke her heart thinking how she, Burt, Carole, and Kurt had suffered in the years visiting Finn when they thought they had to face the rest of their lives without him. She had grieved, along with Finn, for the friends who couldn't be told the truth. But that was all over now.

She looked at her headstone, then smiled.

"Let's go, baby. We have people to see. I just wanted us to actually visit our graves. To let it all go, you know?"

Finn looked pensive. "I'm glad you talked me into this. It…" He strove to find a word, but failed. Then he smiled.

"Let's go," he said, and they walked down the slope, hand in hand, and hugged Alex and Pilar at the bottom. Then it was on to Burt and Carole's house.

For the party.

The trees in the neighborhood had matured since they were last here; what had been an open suburban street was now a sedate, shaded lane. The house was now yellow, with green trim.

"So you grew up here, Dad?" Alex asked from the back seat.

"No," Finn said. "Grandma Carole and I lived alone in a different neighborhood before she remarried when I was in high school. We'll drive by my old house after the party, okay?"

Rachel had been anxious about them revealing Alex's true family history to him, but he had taken it in stride. As usual, he surprised them by admitting he had come to doubt the cover story.

"It was too…seamless," he said. "But I knew there had to be a good reason for it, and I trusted you to tell me if and when you could."

Pilar had nodded. "It's true," she said. "Alex told me his suspicions, but he always said you'd tell him when you were ready."

Rachel looked at the two of them. Alex was dressed in a clean reverse-print blue-and-white Hawaiian shirt with white slacks, and Pilar wore a pale lavender cotton summer dress. Both outfits set off their tanned, olive skin. They looked happy and healthy. She felt blessed.

They walked slowly up the walkway, Finn pointing out things to the kids, while Rachel just felt the weight of memory. They hadn't made it quite to the door when it was flung open, and Carole emerged, arms outstretched. Alex was closest, and was the first to be embraced.

"Oh my God," Carole cried into his shoulder, "You're a man now! I haven't seen you since you were a baby!"

Alex hugged her back, fiercely. "Hi Grandma," he said. "I've wanted to meet you for so long." He paused and reached out to pull Pilar into the group. "This is my Pilar." Before Pilar could say anything, Carole nearly crushed her, too.

"Welcome, welcome," Carole said, tears flowing. And Burt appeared, laconic as ever, but hugged them all, too.

He must have felt Rachel's anxiety. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"You ready, kid?" he asked. She nodded fiercely, and, holding her husband's hand, followed Burt and Carole into the house.

There was new furniture. And carpet. But Finn's graduation portrait still hung in the entrance hall, and the air smelled of cinnamon. Alex stopped and stared at his father's portrait, with Pilar at his side. Rachel loved the proud smile on her son's face.

And then they were in the living room. And everyone was there.

Oh, Lord, her dads. They rushed up. Their hair was silver, but otherwise they looked the same.

"Welcome back, baby," Hiram said, in his typical bear hug, which left her breathless. "You have no idea how it feels to know you're finally free." He gave way to LeRoy, who pulled her in and let her cry on his shoulder. "It's okay, it's okay," he murmured.

They hugged Finn, and Alex, then Pilar as if she was their long-lost granddaughter.

Finn took Rachel's hand as they faced the group she had dreaded meeting—Quinn , Puck, Mercedes, Artie, Santana, Brittany, Sam and the Schuesters. All of the people who couldn't be told. She and her husband stood, tentatively, wondering what to say.

Kurt and Blaine stepped in to help.

"Group hug!" they screamed, and their friends, tears streaming down their faces, embraced them back into the world of the living.

Rachel felt dazed, as if experiencing a series of short films running before her eyes:

Mercedes squealing with delight as she bear-hugged Alex, telling him she had told his mother that one of the things she most wanted was to eventually meet Rachel Berry's children. She was widowed, and her son Damien was living in France.

Emma and Will crying, then joking about how they'd have to rename the high school auditorium—again.

Santana and Brittany living in Cambridge, Massachusetts, where Brittany was a mathematics professor at Harvard . Santana was an indie film actress. They had two adopted children, a son and daughter.

Artie and his wife Mary, both independent film makers (who had cast Santana in several films) , ecstatic. Artie wondered if Rachel and Finn would be interested in being involved in a documentary about their story. "Maybe even a major studio effort?" Artie said. Alex and Pilar looked impressed.

And, of course, Sam, who was divorced, but happy, with a son who lived with him. He had also become an actor, and played in a band on weekends.

They all wanted to hear the complete story—especially the way Rachel had convinced the Ferrantes to cancel the contract. So she told them about the performance. And then the three days they waited arund for an answer. Finn even had time to fly up himself, and the two of them holed up in a loft similar to the one where their reunion occurred, only in a completely different building.

"We felt like prisoners," Finn said. He didn't tell them about the frenzied lovemaking that went on, Rachel thought, with an inner chuckle. No need to gross out the kids.

"It wasn't so bad," she said, and saw him give her their secret wink.

On the evening of the third day, Andrew called and said he had news. He arrived with a small, padded bag.

Please-sit down," he said. His face was unreadable.

"Well?" Rachel demanded.

"As you know," Andrew began, "They loved your performance, but I warned you about the strong possibility they would not cancel the contract, despite my warnings."

"Yes, yes!" Rachel said impatiently.

"Well, they sent an emissary—one of their lawyers over a couple of hours ago. He told me their had been disagreement at the family headquarters, with their consiglieri insisting that Frank not to terminate the contract. "

Rachel's heart sank. Finn squeezed her hand, as if to say they hadn't lost anything-they still had their good life in Costa Rica. But she had finally allowed herself to hope that it could all be over, and had put her heart and soul into that performance. She wished she had followed her instincts and put a bullet in each of their heads.

"He almost convinced Frank," Andrew said, but couldn't keep his poker face. He smiled broadly "But Donatella put her foot down. 'Do the honorable thing, Frank', she told him. And that is what he did. As of the time you stopped singing, the contract has been terminated."

"So that was it?" Mercedes asked. "Didn't they have to give you a statement or something?"

"No, no," Finn said, "They could never allow such an incriminating document to fall outside of the family hands."

"We're sorry we didn't tell you,", Rachel said, and the tears came then. "We couldn't risk your lives as well as our own."

She thought about her friends and loved ones, and how there wre stil things they couldn't tell their friends, such as the name of the mob Family, just in case they were angered enough to kill her and Finn anyway. And she knew they would turn down any book deals or film offers about it. But it was enough to be alive and unafraid now. With the family she once thought was an impossibility. And wait, here was Judah and Anne, late to the party!

She and Finn exchanged smiles. So this is what peace is like, she thought. I can live with that.

**A/N There will be a small epilogue to this, when I have the time.**


	12. Sunset

Alex Hudson sat in his favorite place, on top of the old picnic table under the palms, enjoying the sunset. Delilah sat dutifully beside him as they watched pelicans diving for their dinner. He rubbed her head.

"You miss them, don't you girl?" he asked, but the dog didn't seem particularly upset.

"Stop projecting," said a voice from behind. Pilar joined him on the table.

He felt his heart stop. Pilar was wearing only skimpy lavender bikini bottoms. She knew how that color set off her perfectly tanned, olive skin, and delighted in his reaction to her nearly-naked body. He stripped off his t-shirt.

"Don't want to be overdressed, " he joked. She smiled, serenely, and rubbed his arm. Pilar had once told him she was glad they had known each other since they were children.

"I loved watching you mature and grow into the man you are now," she had said.

Of course, Alex could say the same thing about Pilar. Sure, she wasn't voluptuous like some of the girls they had grown up with; her curves were decidedly more modest. But he loved that about her. She reminded him of a young, scaled-down Penelope Cruz, with flawless skin, long, wavy, blue-black hair and dark, bottomless eyes. And she had these full lips that drove him mad.

The heat of the day had begun to fade, with a soft, cool, offshore breeze. He watched it ripple through Pilar's hair and sighed.

"You're right. I miss them," he said.

His parents had stayed in New York after the party, and found an apartment. When the news that his mother was alive began to spread, she got offers from all over the place. One was a chance to audition for a new major film, based on the best-selling novel, _Pinnacles of Rage_, by her old friend Geoff Fielding. He said she would be perfect for the part of Mona, the burnt-out singer who gets involved in an assassination attempt on a police chief. As for his father, he and Tom Foley were working on songs for a musical together. It was based on a book that Alex had recommended to Finn: _The Quetzal Forest_, by V.J. Gorey. It was the memoir of a surfer from Long Island in the 1960's, who dealt drugs to finance his surfing around the world and disappeared in Central America, only to emerge ten years later with a book describing the weird, hallucinogenic surfing culture on Costa Rica's Pacific coast. To Alex, his parents were transformed. He'd always known that they'd loved each other, but now that he knew their full story, he sometimes had trouble getting his mind around it all, or what they actually meant to each other.

"Can you imagine Mom being a nobody that everyone made fun of?" he asked Pilar after they got home in Costa Rica to spend the rest of the summer before their senior year.

Pilar shook her head. She was just in shock at being able to live with Alex- her parents had divorced and moved back to the States, but had heartily approved of her relationship. "And then driving all the way from New York to Costa Rica alone," she said, "because she wanted to prove to your dad that they both would do anything for each other? My God, Alex, their story is..I dunno...epic."

He looked at her and nodded. They had spent the last two weeks surfing and making love. The breeze picked up and tousled his hair, and Pilar's heart skipped a beat, too. Alex looked like a tanned, darker version of his father. Tall and muscled from surfing and wood work, she just loved looking at him. And he was smart, and kind, and studying physics so he could better understand how to improve a boat's performance. She was studying design, and when they graduated and got married, Alex and Pilar were going to take over his dad's boat-building business. They both had good heads for figures, so the bookkeeping wouldn't be a problem- Finn had often complained about having to hire an accountant just to do the day-to-day stuff. He had been overjoyed when, as young teenagers, Alex and Pilar pitched in to do that for him.

And she loved how Alex changed his name to honor them.

"They deserve this happiness," Alex said.

Pilar nodded, and moved closer so they could lean into each other in silence. She couldn't help but be thankful for the struggles Alex's parents had endured- she would never have met Alex if it hadn't been for that. And she was grateful for how they had accepted her so completely.

"We're going to be like them," Alex said suddenly.

"Mmm hmm," Pilar murmured.

"Completely devoted." Then he smiled. "One time I asked Mom why she and Dad never seemed to fight."

Pilar smiled, dreamily. "What did she say?"

"She said they used to have silly fights and disagreements in high school, and she even described herself as being high maintenance." Pilar giggled. "But after four years of mourning him and then getting this second chance, Mom said she vowed never to let any disagreement end up in a fight." Pilar heard a catch in his throat. "She said two people who would do anything for each other could find a way not to fight. That was the least they could do." Then he turned and kissed her. "I will do anything for you," he said, as she caught her breath.

Delilah, knowing what was coming next, hoped there was some food in her bowl.

**A/N: And so it ends. I want to thank all of my readers for their support over the years. Writing these fics has helped my writing immensely, and I will be busy for some time in the real world, and will probably not reenter the world of fanfiction. I wish you all the best and hope you find other authors you enjoy. Shanti. **


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